Journals from the Wasteland
by AVGhost
Summary: Three characters, a boy from a the most advanced Vault ever built then forgotten, a salvager looking for the Vault that may have the secret to rebuilding society, and a Brotherhood Sentinel just trying to prove she has value to the Brotherhood all find themselves simply trying to survive and find valuable lives over 200 years after civilization ended.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Journals from the Wasteland

Elliot's Journal Entry 1 – Wednesday August 23rd 2291

Well, I guess I have a journal now. I don't quite know exactly what I am supposed to be doing with this, but here it is. Mr. Anders gave us the assignment today in class. Well, "assignment" may be a little off. Dad says that everyone in all the schools, on all the decks get the same assignment in 7th grade. I dunno, maybe it's some kind of Vault-wide experiment?

Anyway, as I was saying Mr. Anders said that we were all required to now keep a daily journal in order to expect to pass on to the next grade. He actually seems to really think this will be valuable, so I guess it may be worth it. He wants us to "reflect on your days," in his own words. We should "write down your thoughts, your feelings on what you did during the day." He was explaining this as he moved through the desks handing out the data discs that we'd use to install the journaling program onto the computers in our residences. Of course we weren't going to be using physical journals, paper being as rare as it is in the Vault.

"But what if there's nothing to write about?" Tori asked. Oh Tori, never raising her hand and waiting for permission to speak, you could always see the vein in Mr. Anders forehead pop a little when she talked, but he still never really came down on her too hard, except for the occasional scolding look. I guess he probably has dealt with much worse than a girl speaking out of turn in his years of teaching. How long as he taught anyway?

"Then just list everything you did that day," he said. "The program I'm passing out will send me a notification whenever you make an entry and submit it. That is how I'll be grading you."

Seems fair enough to me. I don't know much about what is allowed on the inter-Vault network and what isn't I've never really used the computer in our residence for much more than homework, so I don't even really know what all we have on the database beyond basic historical records and such. I never even thought that the computers might be able to communicate between each other. I wonder if I could send Thomas a message on it? Something to ask Dad about later maybe.

Thomas is a friend of mine that lives on deck 78, three decks above us. We met when I had gone with my dad on a house call, my dad's a doctor and works out of the clinic on our deck, but since the decks only have so much space available and the decks around us are focused on food production, they don't have the room for clinics, so my dad often helps out on the other decks. He had been called and didn't want to leave me alone, mom was working in the diner, so he brought me along. This was actually pretty typical at the time, I mean that was 3 years ago, so I was only 10. Even in a vault with everyone on top of everyone you don't leave a ten-year-old home alone for hours, right?

Anyway, dad had been called up to deck 78 to check on someone who wasn't feeling well, it was Thomas's mom, I guess she had the flu or something, I don't know. But my dad was in her room doing his examination, and I was left in their common room. Thomas and I passed the time very awkwardly. I mean, two kids that have never met before have all kinds of things to talk about. And so we kind of just sat around for a few minutes. I guess he got tired of the silence because he had suddenly stood up grabbed a comic book off the arm of the couch and then plopped on the floor next to my chair. Holding the comic book up, he asked "Have you read Grognak?"

"Grognak?" I said. "What's Grognak?"

"You don't know Grognak?" The look on his face was pricelss! "How can you not know Grognak?"

"I don't know, I just don't read comicbooks that much."

"Oh! You're really missing out!" And we sat there as he read the book to me, doing all the sound effects and at one point he got so excited he jumped up and started matching the poses and actions from the climatic fight at the end of the issue. It apparently ended on a cliffhanger, and we've never seen the next issue, so we don't know how that fight actually ends. We've spent so much time the past three years playing and pretending different ways for that fight to end. Thomas is of course always Grognak, because barbarians are big and he's really tall; he's always been tall for our age, really. I either am the other one, some unnamed bad guy who looks menacing and has his face covered. I'm sure he really does have some name, really but it's not actually revealed in that issue. Poor Thomas, I hope we find the next issue sometime and that it's still in good condition after over 200 years.

I actually really should see if dad can take me up to 78 to visit Thomas again soon, it's been a couple of weeks since I've seen him.

Sorry I went off on a tangent there, Journal. But I guess Mr. Anders did say that he wanted us to reflect on our lives and happenings, who cares if that was three years ago, right? Oh! Mom's calling me for dinner; I guess I should submit this for the credit and go eat!

Elliot's Journal entry 2 Thursday August 24th 2291

Today was a big day at school! I just got in and had to write about it while it was fresh. We were doing the history lesson for the day. Now that we're in seventh grade our history class is real history instead of the "social studies" they teach the younger kids, so we are finally able to learn a little more about the world before the Great War. It's odd to even think about a world outside of the Vault. Of course as soon as a child is able to start talking we're taught all about how the world was different once, and people lived outside of the Vaults over 200 hundred years ago! But, of course, when the Great War happened, the "hubris of man" (that's what dad says anayway) caused us to let lose massive weapons that destroyed the surface world and made it unbearable for all life because of the left over radiation and destruction. I don't know really how that could happen, but I guess that's why we get our history courses.

So Mr. Anders was walking between the desks and lecturing us on how life came to be in the Vault. "Many years ago, people lived on the surface," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Billy cut Mr. Anders off, obviously exasperated with the lesson. I guess he thought it was going to be the same old lecture about how we can't leave the Vault, because the Vault has to remain sealed to protect us. Billy always has a short fuse with things.

"Well, if you let me finish," Mr. Anders said. "Yes, you all know that over two hundred years ago, two hundred and twenty-one to be exact, the Great War sparked off and bombs were dropped. Now no one knows who dropped the first bomb, or what sparked off the war, or really even much about the after effects of the war."

"So you're just guessing, you mean?" Tori asked.

"No. I won't make guesses for you. That's for your little minds to run rampant with. We actually know a decent amount thanks to Vault-Tec, you know the company that. . ."

"Yes!" Billy again. "We all know that Vault-Tec built the Vault, and these jumpsuits, and the Pip-Boys!"

"Yes, O.K, moving on again." Mr. Anders said. "What you may not know is we aren't the only Vault. Spread across what was once the entire United States of America, are Vaults much like our own. Hopefully, there are many more survivors in their own Vaults and keeping the human race alive."

"So there's no way that anyone still lives on the surface?" I asked.

"No, that'd just be impossible, Elliot. You see, the bombs that were dropped we nuclear bombs and these spread radiation into the air, and radiation of course, as you all know is very deadly. We do know there were so many of these bombs that the entire world would have been covered in radiation that likely still remains at incredibly high and deadly levels across most of the world."

"You said there were other Vaults though?" Tori asked, paying a bit more attention. Really that's no surprise. Life outside the Vault isn't talked about very much, so when we ever have a chance to hear about it, we do.

"Yes, there are quite a few others, but how many survived the War and how many are still active we don't know. Unfortunately, the Vault-Tec network went down as the bombs dropped. The good news is, you're all lucky! Vault 200 was the biggest and grandest project of all the vaults. You see? We're actually built under what was once the city of Denver. Denver was on top of a large mountain. So when Vault-Tec built this Vault, they had a lot of room to work with. One hundred and fifty decks, all huge, especially relative to the other Vaults, and all the best equipment and technology for food production, water recycling, and medical facilities. Really we are quite lucky to live here."

"So why did Vault-Tec build the vaults? And why didn't they build more and bigger ones to fit all the people? And only in America?" Tori rattled off more questions and everyone in the class went wide-eyed as Mr. Anders took a few steadying breaths.

"Well, there were a lot of factors that led to the bombs being dropped. The relations between communist China and the USA were very stressed for years and they often had resulted in military action. These clashes came to a head when Chinese forces invaded Alaska, and the US forces went to retake it. Not long after this the bombs were dropped and we lose track of what happened outside of our Vault."

"And the rest of the world?" Tori asked again.

"We simply don't know. Now Vault-Tec was a large company. It is possible that they built Vaults around the world, or other organizations did."

"So you just don't know?"

"Yes, sadly. Our history is best picked up with life in the Vault from there." From there, Mr. Anders gave us a lecture on the formation of the Leadership Board. How even before the bombs dropped Vault-Tec had planned made plans for life and governing in the Vault. Every Year we elect members of the Board from each sector, sectors being groups of thirty decks, and then the Leadership Board chooses one "well-respected citizen of the Vault" to be the board's Chairman and act as the head executive of the Vault and lead us.

After the lecture we were dismissed, and this is where my day got even better! Next week is my thirteenth birthday! My dad found me after school, as I was on my way home, to tell me that he and mom had managed to reserve the party room at the diner for me and my friends! This was great, but even better, since thirteen is when you get your Pip-Boy, I knew it was coming, but my dad had been given it early and he let me have it already! I'm not allowed to wear it outside of our residence until after my birthday, you know, because I'm not supposed to have it yet and he doesn't want to get in trouble. But I can play with it now and listen to the radio in my room!

Okay, it's later in the evening, but I just can't sleep so I'm writing a little bit more, maybe that will help. I've been messing with the Pip-Boy for a little while now. It's really very cool! I've been able to figure out most of the functions, and have really enjoyed the Vault's community radio broadcasts over the past hour or so. Kerry Palmer's voice is incredibly soothing. I actually think this will be the best feature of the Pip-Boy, despite how cool the rest of it will be.

I actually really like this one, it's black all over. Both the leather and metal frame of the rig are completely black. It is a little awkward to use, with the dials and buttons being on the right side of the device, but the glove is left handed, so I have to bend my right elbow a little awkwardly to use any of the features. It took a little getting used to but I figured out how to at least turn on the lamp and get comfortable with it.

Anyway, along the right side of the screen, there's a dial switch and a meter or a gauge of some kind at the top. I don't really know what it does, but it's stayed zeroed out since i got the Pip-Boy, so I guess that's good, or maybe the gauge is broken? I'll have to ask my dad about it in the morning. Actually, I don't think I've seen the gauge on his move ever either. His is a little different from mine, in fact, I don't think I've seen an all-black one before.

Anyway, I was messing around with it and looks like there's three main functions, one that actually looks like it take basic health readings while I have it on! I tried to access that tab when I wasn't wearing the device, but that screen just stayed blank. I don't really know what all the read outs mean, but I'm sure it'll be easy to figure out with dad's help.

The next tab lets me enter info about my belongings, what all I have with me and come general information on them. Some of the things I started to input and it pulled up some basic info on it! Maybe the previous owner had put that in there. Or is this somehow connected to the Vault intranetwork? Another question about my Pip-Boy. I wonder who had it previously, all Pip-Boys being passed down as they're made available. I guess I got lucky one was even available at all, I know Thomas had to wait for his almost six months after his birthday.

The last tab is marked simply "DATA." This tab has a ton of different sub-sections too. One lets me make my Journal entries, another is a to-do list, there's a map of the Vault in the next section, and then the controls for the radio. I messed around a lot with these screens, mostly I was trying to get my journal entries on my Pip-Boy instead of the family terminal.

That was where I realized something odd was on my Pip-Boy. Under the "notes" section, where I'm going to start making my journal entries once I can figure out if the program Mr. Anders gave us will work on the Pip-Boy, there were some files that I didn't think should be on there. I guess they forgot to delete everything off of it when it was processed for a new owner. The weird thing was, I opened the files and it was just page after page of random letters and symbols. I looked to see how I might be able to delete them, but a warning screen popped up that said the files were locked for editing. I guess just one more thing I'll have to look into.

Elliot's Journal entry X August 31st 2291

What a day! Finally, my birthday came and it was great! Of course we had to go to school today. We don't really do class parties anymore; Billy saw to that when he threw a party for his gang of friends in the middle of one of Mr. Anders' lectures at the beginning of the semester. He even just ignored Mr. Anders right up to the point that he had to page Billy's parents to come get him. I'm sure it was hell in their quarters that night.

Anyway, I did have to go to school, there wasn't much to mention about, except for on my way into the classroom, Tori stopped me. "Hey, birthday boy!" she said, nearly tackling me from behind.

"Hey Tori," I said "You just couldn't wait until the party?"

"And miss surprising you? Come on, that's what birthdays are for!"

"You know I don't like surprises, Tori."

"You just like ruining my fun, but I got a great one for you!"

That was weird a bit for her, actually. Tori doesn't usually announce her plans to surprise me; she usually just jumps on my back. "Oh? Now I'm worried. What did you do?"

"Nuh-huh, you gotta wait, birthday boy!" She gave her head a little tilt and looked at me hard like she was expecting something weird on my face. "Eh, you'll see later!" she said, turning and heading into the classroom, with a little skip in her step. The rest of the school day was pretty uneventful, I think. I don't actually know since I was way too excited about my party and getting to show off my Pip-Boy.

After school I stopped by the clinic to visit my dad, he had asked me in the morning to come by for my annual birthday check-up. I had almost forgotten until he brought it up at breakfast. Of course, I had my annual checkup. Every Vault citizen goes through a regular yearly physical to make sure we're all fit for our duties. I mean, I guess that makes sense, but I don't know why the children are all supposed to it too. It's not like we have jobs yet. I'm still three years away from my G.O.A.T. But if I have to do it, I'll get it over with.

Turns out there was more to this physical than I thought. We went through the normal bits of poking me and pinching and various things being put in my mouth and ears. I really have no idea how my dad does his job. I really have no idea about medicine at all, to my embarrassment. The other kids will ask me about the human body, or just assume I know things because my dad's a doctor. I mostly just nod along with whatever guesses they make and pretend I know what the words they're using mean.

But after all the normal exam stuff, my dad pulled out the Pip-Boy. He strapped it to my wrist and explained out the first tab worked. I guess what I had figured out wasn't quite everything. He took a wire from the computer terminal on the desk and plugged it into an auxiliary port on my Pip-Boy. Apparently he could set my defaults and this would give my Pip-Boy a more particular read out my own health. I thought it just did vitals, but I guess it can do a lot more! He explained how that read out can give me general sense of how healthy I really am and what I might need to look at. I guess this will take some more know-how than I thought.

After he had explained the health functions of the Pip-Boy until he thought I knew how to use it (ummm well, I can try!), he unplugged the wire and lifted me off the exam table with an overly exaggerated "oof" and telling me he doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to lift me. I laugh and humor him, but really he'll probably always be able to lift me! I'm still short for my age, the shortest person in my class by a full inch, and I'm pretty scrawny too. My mom says I have a great sprinter's body, but I don't really know how relevant that is when the longest straight line on our deck is about two hundred feet. Anyway, he set me down, and we walked to the diner.

My dad went through first and once I turned the corner the room erupted into "Happy Birthday"s and Tori was once again almost knocking me down with a running hug. Behind her Thomas was laughing and clapping at my attempt to regain balance. He always did enjoy watching me be clumsy. I swear, it's not fair! He's tall, skinny, but so not clumsy. Guess other people just get to win the physical lottery.

Thomas came up to us as Tori was prying herself off me and nearly knocked the air out of me with a big tight hug of his own. "Happy Birthday, little bro!" he said, patting my back. I thanked him as soon as I could catch my breath after he let me go.

"You could say it without crushing my lungs you know."

"Oh like you even know what lungs are good for," he said. He always likes to tease me on how little I know about the human body.

"I still know I have them and they're important!" He gave my back another hearty pat and led me into the party room where it seemed like half the deck was. The adults all found themselves talking in a bunch of different groups in that way that adults do when they're gathered together for a specific purpose but not actually required to do anything. They wish me a happy birthday as I walked past them with a curt nod or a warm smile. All-in-all this really helped me realize how many people I knew around me all the time, how many of them cared enough to at least show up and wish me well. Yeah, there was food that didn't cost extra ration slips or caps at the party, but it was a pretty thin spread, mostly some fruit and cheese plates, no meat. My parent's would really wish they could do that for me, but meat was so expensive to get outside normal ration allotment. Murphy, our deck's Mr. Handy was serving food out on tiny plates to anyone that walked by. Looks like his normal arm attachments (a buzzsaw for some reason and some graspers) had been been replaced for the occasion with a spatula and some tongs, the work of Tyler Hardin, a worker from the machining shop on deck 80. He and my dad were good friends and he always seemed to like going out of the way to do my dad favors.

I was picking at some apple slices when Tyler came up to me and asked me if I was enjoying the party. I said I was and thanked him for modding Murphy to make him better for serving food the party. "Modding?" he asked, "I don't know what you're talking about." He ended his sentence with a wink. Of course he wouldn't want that to be too public knowledge, as making modifications to Vault equipment was of course very against the rules. That doesn't really ever stop anyone, but still better if the security team doesn't know what happened to Murphy's buzzsaw hand.

The party was a lot of fun and many of our neighbors, adults and kids were happy to come up and wish me the best. I even got a few presents! Of course, most people only give presents to their close family members, what with there only being so much extra property to go around, but Thomas gave me a bandana that was just like one he wore to cover his face when he was helping his dad in the hydroponics bay, his dad being a farm supervisor in one of the large food production bays on Deck 78; they probably grew some of the apples we had at the party! He said his mom had been able find some matching fabric and mend it for me so that when we played we could be on the same team. Thomas added I would be the side-kick of course.

Everyone had started to leave to party and my parents were talking quietly and being all mushy while they half-heartedly helped Murphy and Tyler clean up the extra food and put it away in the diner's refrigeration unit. I told them I was going to go home, I still had my homework to do and I wanted to catch the VCR (Vault Community Radio) show before bed. As I turned the corner towards the Deck's residence block, I nearly tripped over Tori. She was leaning against the wall in some shadows and the blue of her jumpsuit blended into the metal of the bulkhead behind her, she had her hands behind her back and was looking at her feet like there was something interesting painted on the floor. I followed her gaze and, nope nothing there. "Hey Tori, you ok?" I asked. I wasn't quite sure how to deal with a quiet Tori.

Her face shot up in a huge smile, and some of her super dark hair fell in from fo her eyes, which she pushed back with her hand after trying to blow it out of her eyes a few times. "Of course! It's still your birthday, right?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good," she said. She brought her hands around and they were holding a small bag. "Here, I still have to give you your present!" I took the offered bag and before I could open it she leaned down (man even Tori is taller than me!) and kissed my cheek.

I stood frozen for a second. Only my mom had ever done such a thing. The sound of Tori's footsteps pinging off the metal floor down the hallway brought me back to the real world in time to see her stop and wave before disappearing down her passage. I wandered back to our quarters then to my room on autopilot. I wasn't thinking at all, or I was thinking so fast I couldn't keep track. One of the two. I sat on my bed and turned on the radio and finally remembered the bag. I still can't believe what Tori gave me! A cupcake! An actual cupcake with frosting and everything! My mom always tells me how hard it is even for the diner to get steady supplies of sugar and flour, milk and eggs. This must have cost Tori a fortune of caps to get just the ingredients. I lifted the desert out of the bag like a priceless treasure. On the bottom of the bag was written in Tori's messy handwriting "Enjoy!" So I sat back on my bed and did just that.

Salvage Log - November 30 2303

I have to admit, I did not expect to still be in the New Vegas area one month later, yet here I am. Really it hasn't been so bad. The people of Goodsprings have been nice enough to put up with Dogmeat and me for the past few weeks though. When I finally got past the NCR's Mojave Outpost, they had directed me here as a good starting point. I had asked around about Vaults in the area, or if there were any old Vault-Tec offices in New Vegas. Pretty much everyone at the outpost was certain that there were a number of Vaults in the area, but that was the best they could give me. Apparently the Mojave outpost is more concerned with handling policing contraband and customs from the caravans coming into the Vegas Wasteland than they are with patrolling very wide. The major in command could only really give me two good leads: that the troops at Camp McCarren may have more information for me and that Goodsprings would be a good place to ask around from the locals.

Knowing the NCR, I figured I'd try my luck with the locals first, so after waiting four days at the Mojave for them to clear me through (thank you, caravan license, for holding me up as often as not). I'm not quite sure how a man, a dog, and a two headed brahmin with udders as big as a Mr. Handy count as a caravan, but there it is. Anyway, I came down to Goodsprings and started introducing myself around. As I walked into town from the south, I apparently managed to catch the eye of a woman sitting on a porch rail at the only "saloon" in town. She was lazily trimming pieces of some kind of meat off a skewer and tossing them to a dog that sat at her side, watching the woman's knife hand as she cut the meat and tossed into the air. She was doing a good job of obviously keeping an eye on me while not obviously watching me. It's a look I've gotten used to any time I come through one of these smaller settlements in the wastes. The easy, almost relaxed way her hands stayed close to the rifle propped against the rail was pretty common too. "Howdy, stranger," she called from the porch when I was in earshot.

"Hey there," I said. "Is this Goodsprings?"

"Yeah, you got the right place." She stood up off the rail, slung the rifle over her should and walked over to me. "You a trader?" she asked with a nod towards my loaded down brahmin.

"Nope, traveling salvager. Martin Stiles," I said, extending my hand.

She shook it heartily, and introduced herself as Sunny Smiles. "Smiles" Heh. Well, Sunny couldn't be better named. even at that first meeting she could hardly keep herself form bouncing as she explained that she had taken i upon herself to protect the town and people of Goodsprings. "They've been good to me, you see? They're good to everyone," she'd said. "I just couldn't bare the thought of everyone here being left without a decent hunter or someone to keep the raiders at bay, not that they're defenseless mind you. So don't get any ideas, huh?" She winked with this statement to make it seem like a joke, but something in her voice seemed a little too harsh. I may have chuckled a bit; I don't remember.

Sunny turned to overlook the settlement and pointed out each building, making doubly sure to point Doc Mitchell's house at the top of the hill. "You'll probably need to visit him at some point," she said. "Well, maybe you won't you do have a lot of guns afterall." She had apparently been looking me over and took note. To be fair, I did have a lot of guns on me at the time, or really all the time, but that's life in the wasteland. I generally have so many guns because I don't have much ammunition for any particular one, and I just want to make sure I have options.

"Well, I tend to do pretty ok without a Doctor," I said. "But glad to know there's doctor nearby. She finished her visual tour with the gas station on the top of the hill. All the gas has been depleted she told me, but it's still a good "local attraction." If I were ever heading back that way, I'd have to take her to the Hub. I'm sure it would blow her mind. When she finally stopped proclaiming all that was wonderful about Goodsprings and the surrounding area, I was finally able to get to the point of why I was there. I asked her about and Vaults she knew of in the area. She said she had heard of a few, and of course there was Vault 22 on the Strip, but that's more a museum than a real Vault, she explained. When I asked her if she'd be able to show me where the Vaults were, though, she said that she really hadn't ever actually been to any of them.

It's unfortunate, but I'm still here. I've been searching the surrounding area for more clues to the Vaults' locations. I'm beginning to get frustrated, but at least Sunny, or rather Trudy, who runs the Prospector's Saloon and more or less the settlement, have let me stay in the gas station, so I have some shelter from the desert heat and cold. Man I always heard nightmare stories about the heat and dryness out here, but no one mentioned how cold it gets overnight. But anyway, the gas station has an old mattress set up from when a caravan worker was squatting here a couple of years ago to hide out from a local gang of escaped prisoners. From what Lucky Pete, an old curmudgeon of a "prospector" that spends his days in a rocking chair on the porch of the Saloon. Apparently a prospector his how he describes being a salvager. Either way, he's been really helpful with pointing me in the direction of some valuable sights and possible leads on Vaults, but nothing that's come to fruition yet. Tomorrow is another day. Maybe I'll get lucky. I just need one document, or map, anything that even hints at the location of Vault 200.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Day in the Life

Salvage Log - November 30 2303

I have to admit, I did not expect to still be in the New Vegas area one month later, yet here I am. Really it hasn't been so bad. The people of Goodsprings have been nice enough to put up with Dogmeat and me for the past few weeks though. When I finally got past the NCR's Mojave Outpost, they had directed me here as a good starting point. I had asked around about Vaults in the area, or if there were any old Vault-Tec offices in New Vegas. Pretty much everyone at the outpost was certain that there were a number of Vaults in the area, but that was the best they could give me. Apparently the Mojave outpost is more concerned with handling policing contraband and customs from the caravans coming into the Vegas Wasteland than they are with patrolling very wide. The major in command could only really give me two good leads: that the troops at Camp McCarren may have more information for me and that Goodsprings would be a good place to ask around from the locals.

Knowing the NCR, I figured I'd try my luck with the locals first, so after waiting four days at the Mojave for them to clear me through (thank you, caravan license, for holding me up as often as not). I'm not quite sure how a man, a dog, and a two headed brahmin with udders as big as a Mr. Handy count as a caravan, but there it is. Anyway, I came down to Goodsprings and started introducing myself around. As I walked into town from the south, I apparently managed to catch the eye of a woman sitting on a porch rail at the only "saloon" in town. She was lazily trimming pieces of some kind of meat off a skewer and tossing them to a dog that sat at her side, watching the woman's knife hand as she cut the meat and tossed into the air. She was doing a good job of obviously keeping an eye on me while not obviously watching me. It's a look I've gotten used to any time I come through one of these smaller settlements in the wastes. The easy, almost relaxed way her hands stayed close to the rifle propped against the rail was pretty common too. "Howdy, stranger," she called from the porch when I was in earshot.

"Hey there," I said. "Is this Goodsprings?"

"Yeah, you got the right place." She stood up off the rail, slung the rifle over her should and walked over to me. "You a trader?" she asked with a nod towards my loaded down brahmin.

"Nope, traveling salvager. Martin Stiles," I said, extending my hand.

She shook it heartily, and introduced herself as Sunny Smiles. "Smiles" Heh. Well, Sunny couldn't be better named. even at that first meeting she could hardly keep herself form bouncing as she explained that she had taken i upon herself to protect the town and people of Goodsprings. "They've been good to me, you see? They're good to everyone," she'd said. "I just couldn't bare the thought of everyone here being left without a decent hunter or someone to keep the raiders at bay, not that they're defenseless mind you. So don't get any ideas, huh?" She winked with this statement to make it seem like a joke, but something in her voice seemed a little too harsh. I may have chuckled a bit; I don't remember.

Sunny turned to overlook the settlement and pointed out each building, making doubly sure to point Doc Mitchell's house at the top of the hill. "You'll probably need to visit him at some point," she said. "Well, maybe you won't you do have a lot of guns afterall." She had apparently been looking me over and took note. To be fair, I did have a lot of guns on me at the time, or really all the time, but that's life in the wasteland. I generally have so many guns because I don't have much ammunition for any particular one, and I just want to make sure I have options.

"Well, I tend to do pretty ok without a Doctor," I said. "But glad to know there's doctor nearby. She finished her visual tour with the gas station on the top of the hill. All the gas has been depleted she told me, but it's still a good "local attraction." If I were ever heading back that way, I'd have to take her to the Hub. I'm sure it would blow her mind. When she finally stopped proclaiming all that was wonderful about Goodsprings and the surrounding area, I was finally able to get to the point of why I was there. I asked her about and Vaults she knew of in the area. She said she had heard of a few, and of course there was Vault 22 on the Strip, but that's more a museum than a real Vault, she explained. When I asked her if she'd be able to show me where the Vaults were, though, she said that she really hadn't ever actually been to any of them.

It's unfortunate, but I'm still here. I've been searching the surrounding area for more clues to the Vaults' locations. I'm beginning to get frustrated, but at least Sunny, or rather Trudy, who runs the Prospector's Saloon and more or less the settlement, have let me stay in the gas station, so I have some shelter from the desert heat and cold. Man I always heard nightmare stories about the heat and dryness out here, but no one mentioned how cold it gets overnight. But anyway, the gas station has an old mattress set up from when a caravan worker was squatting here a couple of years ago to hide out from a local gang of escaped prisoners. From what Lucky Pete, an old curmudgeon of a "prospector" that spends his days in a rocking chair on the porch of the Saloon, tells me, it was a big to-do and the whole town rallied around a courier to fight back against the Powder Gangers. Just one of Pete's many, many stories. Either way, he's been really helpful with pointing me in the direction of some valuable sights and possible leads on Vaults, but nothing that's come to fruition yet. Tomorrow is another day. Maybe I'll get lucky. I just need one document, or map, anything that even hints at the location of Vault 200.

Salvage Log – December 1st 2291

Finally found something that may actually get me somewhere on the search for Vault 200. Turns out Lucky Pete may just know a bit more about the lay of the land here than I thought initially. I set out early this morning with a plan to check some of the locations he had marked down on dusty old map as possible good hauls. His maps was almost as old and crusted over as Pete himself, so odds were good that I wouldn't find much in the way of valuable salvage, but that's not my goal here anyway, right? I have plenty of caps, and quite a bit of NCR printed money too; it seems that goes a decent way around here, so money isn't a huge concern, and worst case I still have some replacement parts for laser weaponry that I could probably turn for a pretty good profit if I need to. Lucky me too. Most of the places I went were either completely picked over or there wasn't anything there to begin with.

It was late in the afternoon when I was searching an area a bit east of the Strip. Wedged between some hills and some pretty desolate area is a small valley that runs into a cavern. The opening of the cavern had been fenced up and boarded over with some pretty old looking materials. When I tried the gate, the rusted over hinges refused to budge. However, just the shaking of the gate was enough to make the rotted wood start to crumble away. That left a big enough gap between the planks that I could see through the fence and caught a glimpse of a sign in the cave with the Vault-Tec logo.

I stepped back to consider the door before leaning down and taking the prybar out of the pouch I keep it in on the harness Dogmeat wears when we are salvaging. My leather suit and and belt and pack have a ton of pouches and pockets, granted, but I still can only carry so much, so I put together a harness with seral bigger pockets and pouches for some of my tools. I have to admit, it's nice to keep my own pack a bit lighter and still be able to bring a pretty full toolkit with me. A few short minutes, and some physical exertion later, the gate was laying in the dirt.

The cavern was dark, but there was some light coming from some patches of glowing fungus growing out of small pools of water. Dogmeat's ears perked to attention and he wimpered a bit, his way of warning me of something. I took out the Geiger counter I carry with me and flicked it on. It clicked rapidly and meter shot up a bit. It certainly wasn't the worst I've ever been in, but there was some background radiation. I left the device on and strapped in to my belt, hoping there were no dangerous animals for the clicking to draw to me. Just to be safe, I injected myself and Dogmeat with a dose of Rad-X before moving further into the cave.

It wasn't long before I came across the corpses of some kind of animal, probably the over grown geckos that live in the Vegas Wastes. They certainly hadn't died naturally, but it's been a few years. The corpses were just skeletons, really. I kept moving deeper into the cave until I came to what I had hoped to find, a wide open Vault door. The giant drill-like mechanism that would move the door hung slightly a jar, as if it had been partly pulled from its mounts on the ceiling. A thin layer of dust had settled over the floor and walls, but it was disturbed by a trail of tracks. A thinner layer of dust in the tacks hinted that they were fairly old themselves. So this place had likely been picked over before, so I couldn't get my hopes up for valuable technology or salvage, but that isn't what I go to vaults for anyway.

An oddly shaped bundle in the back of the room drew my eye, and to make it out, I pulled out my flashlight and aimed it that direction. A body, mostly human in shape and very decomposed was pretty well piled over itself. I absently scratched behind Dogmeat's ears as I examined it closer. Yes, very human, but many of the remaining bones were misshapen in some way. Ghouls. Great. And there was the chill in my spine that always seemed to come when I go into one of the Vaults. I don't know what it is, but they always freak me out a bit. I clicked my tongue to get Dogmeat's attention, and pulled the old hunting rifle off my shoulder. Where there's one dead ghoul, there's likely a small horde of them shambling nearby. I fixed the flashlight to a clip I had installed on the side of the rifle and started to make my way into the Vault with careful steps.

The entrance opened onto a large balcony that ran around completely around wide open atrium below. Just shining the light down to the lower level proved me half correct about the ghouls. There was a small horde of them, but they were all pretty well dead. The bodies were all pretty well decomposed, down to nothing but bone and the rags of Vault jumpsuits they had been wearing, the number "34" emblazoned in bright yellow block digits across their backs. I tried to remember if I had come across that number before in any of the notes I've come across on the Vault project. Nothing immediate came to mind, so I hoped that I got lucky and found one that was part of the control group. Man, Vault-Tec came up with some weird shit to put people through. Anyway, this many ghouls, alive or dead meant something had gone wrong, probably why my Geiger counter was still clicking away.

I moved deeper into the Vault and eventually found my way to the clinic. Dogmeat went on guard at the door, but seemed pretty relaxed at that point, so I figured if anything lived in the Vault anymore it wasn't close enough to be a concern. I set about combing through drawers, cabinets, lockers, and first aid cases. I had been right, already picked over pretty well. Nothing around to hint at what may have happened to the Vault's population either. I moved from room to room with similar results. Plenty of Ghoul corpses and tracks of two people standing out in places. I eventually made my way to lower levels, though that was difficult as some areas had flooded in the passing of time.

Eventually I managed to find the Overseer's office. The U-shaped desk was on an elevated platform which had the remains of some kind of metallic mountings on the underside. The opposite wall was pockmarked with small caliber bullet holes; something had gone down in a big way in this room. I clambered up to the platform and desk and began rooting through the drawers. In one of them, there was a small line, like the bottom of the drawer was made of separate pieces of wood. I tapped it, and it sounded a bit hollow. I took my combat knife out of its sheath on my chest and pried the false bottom up. A single black toggle switch sat in the newly revealed hole. I flicked the switch and there was a whirr in the bullet-riddled wall. After the sounds of machinery struggling to move, the wall began to shake; it cracked and the layer of concrete that had been a wall fell away. Behind it was an electronic display that lit up with a dull red glow. The display was a map, one I had seen similar versions of before in other Vaults and office buildings that had once been offices of Vault-Tec in various regions, the United States of America from before the war. Small, orange lights appeared spread across the map. I took out my notebook and began comparing locations and numbers with what I had recorded before.

This new map filled in some blanks, and I was able to mark off the other Vaults in the Vegas area, so at least I knew it wasn't close. Most of the Vaults in what was once the American Southwest and now is the NCR were marked. I had already filled in most of this, but some outside of the NCR were added to my list. All-in-all I could add 20 more Vaults to the list of one's that weren't the one I was looking for, but there was one blinking light. Looked to be near Pre-War Denver. I don't know anything about what the area is like now. I don't even know if the NCR has scouted that far east. Well, it's the only lead I have. The clicking of my Geiger counter reminded me that I needed to not stay here much longer; the Rad-X would start to wear off shortly. I double checked the information on the map with my notes and started my way out of Vault 34.

Now I'm back in the gas station. I stopped by Doc Mitchell's after Sunny mentioned I looked a little pale while I was getting dinner at the Prospector's. Good thing I left when I did, he said I have come down with some minor rad poisoning. I'm going to be recovering for a few days. Luckily Doc has plenty of meds and thinks there shouldn't be much in the way of long term effects, but he also doesn't want me leaving while I recover. This gives me a few days to stock up for a longer trek. I'm not sure exactly how far of a haul this will be. But that one untagged light on the board is the only solid lead I have. It could be Vault 200. It could be another dead end. But it could be Vault 200. I'll take the few days to plan this hike, make preparations, stock up. I guess I should gather what research I can on the Denver area. Maybe getting in touch with NCR in this area, or the Crimson Caravan branch will be a good start. Either way, that's all for tomorrow. For now, I sleep.

Elliot's Journal – December 1st 2291

One long day after a long day after another. That's been my life lately. I know I've been neglecting this journal the past few months, but ever since my assignment as Tyler's Maintenance Officer – Second Class, essentially the second in command on a maintenance squad. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to be working with Tyler and definitely glad to be working on Deck 81 instead of having to head all the way down to deck 89 every morning to work with one of the support teams, but I did not realize how over-worked the lead maintenance squad for our sector is when I agreed to the assignment. It is good working with Tyler though; I'd been hoping for this assignment ever since I passed the G.O.A.T. and was told I'd be a maintenance worker. Tyler really knows his stuff, and I'm learning a lot from him. Hopefully it'll just a be a few years here and I'll be given command of my own repair support team or something at this rate.

I mentioned that possibility to Dad a few nights ago over dinner. He seemed amused that I'm aiming for a leadership role like that, though I think he's still disappointed I wasn't stronger in the sciences, I think he always wanted to have a kid working with him in the clinic. But at least he got Tori. To hear her say it, my Dad's the greatest doctor to ever doctor. I think he's pretty happy to have her around too, I mean if his own son couldn't make it in medicine, his . . . girlfriend? . . . whatever of 12 years is the next best thing, right?

I know I should really try to figure things out with Tori; she has made it more than clear that she wants something more permanent from me, but it's more complicated than all that. I just don't know if I want to agree to anything just yet. I mean, we're only twenty-five, there's still plenty of time. Right?

Anyway, it'd be hard enough to find any time for an actual relationship as-is. I'm often still on calls, or in the maintenance bay well past my so called "shift," helping Tyler with particularly important jobs or if we're lucky just getting caught up on the paperwork after hours. Today was one of the latter days, luckily. I say luckily cause the other kind of days I'm happy to make it back to my bunk and get even a short nap in before having to get up for my next shift. Today we had been working on a particularly stubborn pump from the hydroponics farm up on Deck 78. Somehow, a weld had gotten a crack and water had been leaking through for a while and rusted a few bolts to the point they had nearly disintegrated when I took a wrench to them. I think it was a small miracle that a worker had noticed the dripping water, but Tyler was half crazed over frustration. We had to crack the bolt into a couple of different pieces just to be able to get the casing open to repair the weld. All in all, it was actually a pretty simple patch job. But the loss of the bolt hurt. It's always shocking when we lose something so simple, but so so valuable with our limited raw materials in the Vault. That was the first thing I had been told when first joining a support team, always save the nuts and bolts.

Tyler had managed to scrounge up a new bolt fit the pump and finished the repair then volunteered to take the pump back up to reinstall, to save me from second all-nighter I'm sure. This left me to do the day's work logs and requisition forms and another worker, Marvin, a tall, heavy dark skinned man, just two years my junior to straighten the shop. "Drew the short straw tonight?" I asked him as he swept up the dust and detritus that would just show up on the shop floor throughout a day.

"Yeah, all me tonight, I guess," he said. The junior workers on squad had taken to drawing lots on who would end up with cleaning duty each night, as no one particularly wanted to stay even later to swing a broom around. I have to remember it's not just me putting in long days on the Sector 3 Lead Maintenance Squad.

"You need a hand?" I offered. Tyler always tried to "lead from the trenches" as he put it. I guess he always figured if he could show that the boss was just as responsible for the little stuff as the workers are he might get a little better along. It definitely beat the officers on my old squad, content as they are to just assign out tasks and use the maintenance bay's office as a clubhouse. Good for them I guess.

"Nah, Bossboy," the squad's "affectionate" nickname for me, Tyler being "Bossman" of course, "I got this. Looks like you got pile of your own to clean up." He nodded the head of the broom handle towards the stack of req forms and logs on table in front of me.

"Yeah, I suppose I do. Hey, you've got a cousin that works in the M and M down on 113, right?"

"Yes, sir. You're not gonna ask me to have him swipe some bolts off the line, are ya'?" He smirked with a small little laugh. "Cause you know, that asshole, I'd probably be ok if he got caught doing it and thrown in the stocks." He laughed again a little harder. I guess the idea of his cousin in the stocks must have been pretty humorous, though I kind of thought so at the time too. Heck, those thing haven't been used in so long, if ever, the mental image is just absurd enough to be worth a laugh.

"No, no, I was just wondering if you knew if these damned req forms were even being looked at. Shit it's been at least a week since we got anything from M and M." Ah good ole Machining and Manufacturing, always behind on their deliveries, but so ahead and in line with their paperwork. Makes the rest of the Repair Corps look bad. Well, I guess they at least have a good excuse to be the least productive branch of the corps; not like you can build more stuff with no raw materials. The Recycling and Reclamation officers swear they keep meeting their quotas on scrap and waste product turned in, but who really knows if that's enough to keep the Vault supplied.

"Oh, I'm sure they're getting read. Read and filed nicely the end of the pending orders queue all nice and neat like, I'd bet. Now whether that queue is getting any smaller is anyone's bet."

"Yeah, there may be the problem. Hey, make sure you get the cutting floor good. Ken was over there for a while and I don't want any metal shavings sneaking their way into the air vents, again," I mentioned, ducking my head over the requisition forms and looking over the notes I and the other workers had taken of the various materials used, what could be reused, what was spent and needed to be replaced. Aside from the one bolt, there were few complete loses today. Lucky me, I won't have to deal with another "waste not, want not" memo from the Reclaimers in the morning.

There was a click from the shop radio as it came on. "You don't mind do you?" Marvin asked pointing at the radio. "Hate to miss Cecil."

"You're good, I was just about to kick it on myself," I said, gesturing towards my PipBoy. The small, quiet hum of a violin started to fill the room as the intro music to "Tonight in the Vault with Baldwin" played. Cecil gave his regular intro "The Moon is Bright, The day is done, and all is well, Welcome to the Vault," and then went in to an update on the community calendar of the various Sectors. I never really have quite figured out that intro. I mean, we have internal clocks in the Vault that if they are correct, confirm that it is night outside, but no one has been outside in over 200 years to check. And how would anyone know if the Moon was full? I'm just over thinking it. Either way, Cecil's voice has been a source of comfort and an odd sense of family for most of the Vault for going on thirty years, and it is nice to have a sign that my day may be coming to a close soon in that intro.

I finished the last of the requisitions, filed them into a faded and wrinkled, yet still sturdy, envelop and placed in the outbox outside the shop's door. A courier will come by sometime in the night and take it down to M and M, where they'll be added to the queue, eventually completed (I hope), then turned over to Recycling to be broken back down to pulp and remade into paper and likely turned into more forms of some kind. Hooray bureaucracy.

With that done, I went to the work logs. These were going to take a while. Just the write-up on the water pump would take a bit, as it may have been a simple fix, but outlining everything we did to not have to destroy that damned bolt before just accepting it as a loss would be a lot of writing. Add to that translating the other shop workers' shorthand and quickly scribbled notes into the "proper and accurate language" these logs required to be turned in to the Deck Administration Offices. I could feel the evening turning into a late night as I sat back down at the desk.

At some point as I was working through the forms, Marvin left for the evening, having finished the cleaning, and Tyler returned from reinstalling the pump. I checked the clock on my PipBoy and realized that radio had gone from Cecil's voice to some piece of jazzy, slow music recorded more than two centuries before. Sometimes, I still am a little taken back when I realize how much we rely on the creations of some long gone civilization. Our music, what little art and few books that managed to make it into the Vault before the door closed, even most of our machines and tools, all from two-hundred years ago. I try to get those thoughts out of my mind as that way lies madness. I usually remind myself we've gotten by. Tyler has actually redesigned many different pieces of equipment and upgraded them where he can with what supplies he could free up. Tori's gotten quite good with paints that she mixes from whatever she can scrounge up. Thomas has even come up with some pretty amazing meals from his basic rations. I guess we have come up with some of our own idea of culture. Man, it must be getting late.

Anyway, Tyler saw me working at the logs and collapsed into a chair on the other side of the table I have commandeered for a desk until we're able to get Administration to approve giving me a real one. "You still here? You know, it's four hours after you're supposed to be off, right?" Tyler said.

"Of course I do, but these logs have to be done, you know that."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Wrap them up soon though," he said, pushing himself up with arms against his legs for leverage, "and you're taking tomorrow off."

I actually laughed at him. "Yeah? Have you seen that pile of work orders on your desk, and you know more are coming in the morning."

"Yes, I know, but you've been working, and long days I add, for seven days straight. I let your name show up on a work log, Admin'll have my and your hides for violating work-rest regulations, and you know it."

"I can just fudge things, have you sign off on the logs instead," I started.

"No. You're off. Nowhere near this shop, and don't make me order you officially." There was a stone to his voice that I wish I could mimic when I'm half as tired as he looked. I knew he was serious about making it an order too, and that would mean charges if I disobeyed of course, so I relented before he could. I figure I'll take the morning to sleep in, I do need it and possibly poke my head in the shop in the afternoon to make sure everything is covered, so I gave in and Tyler wished me a goodnight on his way out of the office, telling me that he'd fill in the log for the pump install tomorrow, since he technically finished it after midnight anyway. I took in the pile of logs in front of me and slumped back in the chair to finish the work. Two more hours later, here I am, making this entry just to help quiet my brain down a bit to be able to get to sleep.

Elliot's Journal – December 2nd, 2291

Today was better. I woke up, well, I think I was awake anyway, to the sound of the door to my quarters closing, maybe a bit louder than it needed to. I threw my pillow in the general direction and happily heard a muffled thump as it hit Tori in the face. "Hey!" she said just barely hiding a laugh under her breath. This has become something of a routine lately. Not every day, but some mornings, when she doesn't have to be at the clinic early she'll sneak in to my room to wake me up and get breakfast. "I never should have given you my door code," I said, rolling over to turn my back to her.

She humphed, "Well too bad. You want breakfast?"

"What time is it?"

"Seven-fifteen ish," she said.

"Pass," I said, "I got 'ordered' off today. Going to sleep more." I pulled my arms under my head, kind of regretting throwing my pillow. There were a couple of quiet clicks as Tori's shoes hit the metal grating of a floor by my door and a rustle as she took the five steps over my area rug to my bed. Tori put her on my shoulder and rolled me on to my back, and with a smile, slid the pillow back under my head.

"Ok," she said. She leaned down a little more and looked to pucker her lips, and I raised my head to give her a kiss. She quickly leaned back just before our lips met. She matched my overly dramatic hurt look with a wink and then leaned and gave me a short, sweet kiss. "Alright then, I have the evening shift tonight so I guess I can get a late breakfast," she said, unzipping her standard-issue blue and yellow jumpsuit, stepping out of it, and lying next to me in the bed with just her underclothes on. The bed's a single person sized, of course, but we're both still pretty small, she may still be taller than me, but that hardly makes her "tall," so we both can fit pretty comfortably on the bed if we're willing to get a little in each other's space. We haven't really had any shyness about that since we found the storage room down a seldom used corridor when we were eighteen. I swear, the best part of this reassignment/promotion is the private quarters that come with being an officer in the Repair Corps. Anyway, we got comfortable, and she started to run her hand up my thigh. But I had already pretty much dozed off.

I woke some hours later to the green glow of my computer terminal illuminating the small room and an empty bed. I swept my legs over the edge of the bed and rested my feet on the thick, plush rug. So glad I was able to track down this rug. The first few days I lived here I'd start every day by putting my bare feet on naked metal. It's not a good start to the day, but with the rug, the couple of steps to my desk and computer are an easy and soft trod. I really like this rug, it really pulls the room together. The rest of my quarters are pretty sparse, a desk along the opposite wall from my bed, a small table next to the bed where I leave my PipBoy overnight, along the back wall a freestanding closet and pantry that has a small refrigeration unit in the bottom and holds my food and drink items, and then a dresser at the foot of the bed. The wals stay pretty bare, except for a mirror hanging over the dresser to check my hair in. No one ever said the Second Classers had the nice rooms.

The computer was lit up and a text file was open on the screen; Tori had left me a note explaining that it had gotten late in the day and she wanted to make sure she had a chance to eat and do some errands before heading in for her shift. She was going to be working late tonight and figured I'd probably not be up for much, so she'd just head to her own quarters (she still lives with her parents and likely will until she gets married) afterwards and see me when she could next. She signed with a "^.^" just like every other note she ever had left me. I grabbed my PipBoy and clicked it on to check the time. The screen flickered a bit as it came alive; I'll have to keep in mind to get a new power cell for it at the shop tomorrow. It was already well past 13:00 at that point, so I figured I'd grab a shower then a quick lunch.

At the diner I sat in a quiet back booth to my own. I always try to not take up too decent of a table when I eat on the Deck 81, just in case mom is working, so I don't get in her way. I was waiting on a simple vegetable sandwich, today consisting of tomatoes, black beans, and lettuce. Not too bad, actually. The hydroponics bays in the sector must be producing pretty well to get fresh tomatoes on a sandwich. I wouldn't have minded some meat, but I wasn't really willing to pay the extra credits required for it. Meat prices have started to go up again, which means it probably was outside the Deck's ration budget to supply the diner more than the bare minimum after the cafeteria got its stock. I guess I could have used my ration ticket for the day for lunch, but I wanted a quieter spot to sit than the cafeteria would be that time of day.

I was fiddling with my PipBoy to pass the time while I waited. I had called up one of the mysterious files that were still on the device when I received it years ago. Twelve years later and while I've gotten better with the PipBoy, I just can't figure out these files. Every time I try to check the properties of the data files, everything is blank, no creation timestamp, or last edit, file size and format, nothing. And of course, short of wiping and reformatting the entire memory of the computer, I can't delete, copy, or move the files. I'd say it were maddening if I had any amount of time available to be all that maddened by anything other than the stack of repair orders on my commandeered table-desk in my shop. I had looked at the random symbols, page after page of them in the various files, and I never have been able to get any sense of what these files may be.

I was scrolling through one of those files when a man slid into the other side of the booth across from me. "Hey Elliot," Justin Reilly said. Justin's some kind of specialist with Vault Security. I'm not really sure what it is he does, just that he's not technically a Security Officer. Really though, he'd probably make a good one. His thick shoulders look plenty muscular, and I can always pretty clearly make out the shape of his chest muscles through the jumpsuit. He had actually tied it off around his waist when I was in his office to fix the ceiling fan the other, and his arms were rather chiseled too. He has a pretty nice office in the Deck's security center though, so I guess he must be kind of important. "What have you got there?" he asked.

"Oh just some weird thing in a data file; I think it's just a glitch," I said. I still hadn't really ever told anyone about the files on the PipBoy. I initially had been paranoid that if I told someone about them when I was younger they might take it away. I was so happy with my black one, that I just couldn't bare the idea of it being taken away and replaced with a normal green and brass one. I guess I just had developed a habit of brushing off their existence or straight out lying about them.

"Oh? You know I'm pretty handy with that kind of thing; I could take a look at it," he said. "I owe you for fixing my office fan so fast the other day."

I shook my head at that. "Nah, I told you then that was an easy repair. Besides, orders from admin, any request from the security office gets rushed." I wasn't just brushing him off; these are our standing orders since as long as I've been working in the Repair Corps, always the best for the boys in black.

"Fair enough," he said. "Well the offer still stands if you change your mind." His eyes lingered on the screen of my PipBoy, only to be turned away when my mom came up to the table to drop off my sandwich. She asked if he wanted anything, but Justin waved her off, claiming he had just popped in to say hi to me and thank me for my "exceptional work." My mom blushed for me as I just started biting into my sandwich. Justin stuck around for small talk while I ate my lunch and we caught up a bit. He was absolutely enamored with his three year old daughter and just had to tell me everything she had done recently. I have to admit, she is a pretty adorable little girl. I occasionally see Justin and his family wandering around the Deck.

After lunch, I went to one of the social lounges and played some pool, listened to the juke box, and did all the various things there available to kill time until the early evening. I never really did swing by the shop, but I figured they'd have sent someone looking for me if they started to fall behind and needed me. Besides, Tyler would kick my ass if he saw me even poke my head in. In the evening I went by the gym, something I pretend I do a lot more often than I actually do it, but I didn't have the easy excuse of a late night at work tonight to keep me away, so I went for a couple mile run on the treadmills.

Having finished, the evening had started to turn into night. The radio show would be starting soon enough, and I figured that it'd be nice to sit at home and listen to it without paperwork or some late-night repair job to distract me, so I started to head back to my quarters. I wondered, briefly if I should pop up to Deck 87 and spend some time with Thomas. Sleeping until 1300 hours and Tori's visit this morning left me more energized than I had anticipated, or maybe it was the run. Either way, I decided to just head home. It'll be good to try to get to bed early when I could, or at least I was thinking that.

I was a few junctions away from the corridor my quarters are on when an arm reached out from a side corridor and pulled me back into the shadows. A middle-aged man clapped a hand over my nose and mouth and held a finger up to his lips. I panicked and wasn't sure what to do so I stayed still and quiet. I wasn't sure what he might do to me, and I have no idea who this man is. He held me against the wall for a moment before a quiet series clicks and clacks started to sound from the corridor I had been walking down and before long black suited figured came into view, passing the darkened side corridor I was being held in. I didn't catch much detail of them, other than that they were carrying standard issue shotguns of the security officers' Special Tactics team and were in all black heavy duty combat gear, much heavier than I've ever seen on any security officers I know.

When they had passed, the man poked his head around the corner. He pulled back and took his head off my mouth. "Sorry," he said. His voice was a little rough, but definitely not the deep baritone I had half expected it to be, and there was no menace behind it. I'd like to say that put me at ease, but I still didn't dare say anything to acknowledge his apology. "Trust me, you didn't want to be caught by them."

I nodded slowly, not wanting to move too much too fast and set him off.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to you, just wanted to get you out of their way. You should be ok to go on now, just maybe take a long way around this corridor if you can." I nodded again. "Well," the man said, "get going before they realize they missed me and double back."

Those two coming back around with those shotguns was enough of a thought to get me moving. I went out to the corridor and headed straight for my quarters. I guess I got lucky the man didn't attack me from behind; maybe he didn't really mean to hurt me? I mean, it's rare that Vault citizens attack one another, not like many people have more than any other, but it does happen I guess. Certainly that's why we keep the Security Officers around and well-staffed and stocked, right? Anyway, I made it back and kicked on the radio while I made this entry, and I think I'm more collected now, so hopefully I'll get to sleep soon.


	3. Chapter 3 - Discovery (In Progress)

Salvage Log – December 7th, 2271

I'm finally on the move again, and I have to admit, the area around Vegas wasn't a bad spot to hold up for a bit. There was something nice about a consistent roof over my head, and Sunny was pretty easy on the eyes. The last two days I was there, I was still recovering from the rad poisoning I developed while searching Vault 22, and Sunny had spent most of the days with me, helping me plot out a general path to get to what was once Denver. We most compared what few pre-War maps I have collected over the years to different maps and logs of different traders and caravaners Sunny could convince to share them. She even had popped up to the Crimson Caravan's local camp, and got what they had.

While at their camp, Sunny over heard some caravan guards discussing a possible excursion to the northeast to reach out and possibly set up a branch in the settlement of New Canaan. I don't really know of settlement of any kind in that direction, but I also haven't strayed this far east of the NCR borders, so I'll trust the Crimson Caravan on that; they definitely wouldn't pass the chance for new customers. Sunny spoke with whoever is in charge over there and somehow convinced them to let me travel with them until the either reach New Canaan or get to where it's supposed to be and find that it doesn't exist. Sunny and I studied their route and it looks like this will get me a bit more than halfway before I have to cut east to continue my own search.

Travelling with the caravan will likely slow me down, bramhin being slow enough to move on their own and evening slower in a pack, but I figure the access to their supplies (for a fairly negotiated price, of course) and the protection that comes of their guards may just be worth the slow down, especially since we will be passing through lands that are still under claim of the Legion. I think the caravaners are happy to have Dogmeat with them too; a dog in the wastes is as good a warning system of any aggressive animals or people as you could ask for. All in all, it's worked pretty well so far. Two-Head Ted, my own Brahmin, seems to have fallen into the herd with the caravan's animals pretty well at any rate, and Ralph, the guy in charge, is treating me fair on supply prices so long as I promise to help with the hunting/gathering when we run out of our stocks. I'm not quite sure how the mighty Crimson Caravan Company couldn't supply one of their own expeditions for the month that they expect it to take, but I guess that's why I salvage for a living instead of running a business.

My last evening in Goodsprings was spent gathering what supplies I could. We're lucky to be making this trip in the winter so long as we're in the desert, but if I've read my maps and such right, it won't be long before we start reaching the mountains and the colder climate that comes with them. I just hope the roads that were laid down pre-War still at least cut clear paths through the roughest of the terrain. At our current rate, that should still be about two weeks away, but the worst of it is going to be after I break out on my own, so maybe that will just be a problem I deal with when I get there.

The nights have definitely gotten colder though, even now I'm sitting next to fire I lit a little away from the caravan camp and trying to keep my fur-lined leather jacket pulled as tight and sealed as I can. I really got lucky on this coat; a trader from Nellis came into Goodsprings as I was scrambling to gather what supplies I could. This jacket was one of many things I traded far more of my caps for than I care to admit, but I certainly came away for the better. With the Boomer jacket, I also got a good pair of heavy gloves, plenty of ammo for both my pistol and hunting rifle, some canned food that the Boomers had farmed themselves, a new knife, and a full bottle of pre-War whiskey, which is currently helping me keep the cold out of my fingers. Add that with the spare parts from the general store that I hope to use to bargain a bit, some fruit Trudy, and a fairly well stocked medical kit from Doc Mitchell, and I'm starting this bit of travel pretty well stocked.

I still feel pretty confident about my chances that the one unidentified Vault is the one I'm looking for too. The more I go back over my notes and compare it with what little information I have regarding my destination, it would seem to fit. I know this was supposed to be the biggest Vault ever built and would have to have been dug out of a large mountain. Denver certainly fits that bill from what little I know of the area. I know there's a large mountain range to the east of the NCR's borders somewhere; supposedly that's where the Colorado River that eventually comes down to Hoover Dam starts. A mountain range like that would be perfect for this Vault, especially since I think this Vault was some kind of back up plan for after the War. It's hard to say for sure, since all the mentions of it I've found are heavily edited and marked "TOP SECRET." Granted, this isn't really all that uncommon when the Vaults are involved. Vault-Tec was very careful about what records they kept, which makes some sense when I run across notes about their experiments. If word had gotten out about what they were planning in the Vaults, no one would have ever really thought about going into one and letting those giant doors seal them in.

This is actually my biggest fear, that this Vault was one of the experiments. I don't know if Vault-Tec would have spent quite so much money and effort in to one of their crazy experiments, but they did plenty of other things that made no sense. I mean really, what can you hope to learn by putting a single man in a sealed underground bunker with no company except a handful of puppets? Still that wouldn't fit. I have been able to piece together enough information that I am certain they wouldn't have run some crazy experiment here. There was too much at stake. The world best and brightest scientists, politicians, business people all bundled up with the core of the Vault Network and the three largest G.E.C.K.s at their disposal would have been too valuable to waste on some kind of social weirdness just to see what happened. I know that Vault is there, and I'm certain it has everything I'm looking for.

Elliot's Journal – December 7th 2291

So it's been five days since my encounter with the man in the dark corridor. I'm still not sure what it all means. I mean, he let me go and didn't hurt me, but those two security officers, decked out as they were, are still leaving my unnerved. I thought about going to the Deck's Security Office and reporting the incident; I'm sure Justin would be able to tell me what to do, but since I hadn't heard anything more about or seen either the man or the black-clad officers since that day I think it'd be best to just keep my head down and go about my day. So that's what I have been doing.

As always work has kept me busy. After that one, wonderful day off, I've been back in the shop for ten to twelve hours a day for the past few. There was a reactor problem on Deck 89 that has kept us incredibly busy lately. There are so many different reactors that are a part of the system and the movement of power between the floors and sectors is handled by an incredibly complex computer network, so any time there's any fluctuation in the output there's a huge mess of figuring out where the problem lies. This usually involves a lot of back and forth between the local Repair Corps officers, Administration's programmers, and the scientists in charge of actually managing the reactors day-to-day.

This is actually the first time I've been involved in a reactor problem, so it's a little exciting seeing how everything is done. At least the little bit I've actually been involved in. Tyler has been handling most of the work related to it himself and passing the regular work of managing the shop off to me while the reactor takes most of his focus and time. That in and of itself has been a hell of a time. I never quite realized how much of his time was taken up every day with simple things like checking the work of the lesser experienced members of the shop, prioritizing repair requests, and dealing with the bureaucracy of it all. After the second day, I took up Tyler's habit of getting up early and coming into the shop two hours before everyone else to get a jump start on the paperwork. Yesterday, I even showed up before the courier dropped off the day's new requests. Somehow even then stack of repair orders in Tyler's "in progress" stack threatened to tumble over.

Today, I spent most of the day in the lounge on Deck 94. Their jukebox had suddenly stopped playing a couple of nights ago and the order had been sitting on my table/desk since. There's something about sound equipment that I enjoy working on, so I had taken the ticket for myself and then got way too busy to have the time to come down for the time I thought it might take to do the repair. This morning, I just got tired of looking at the repair order form sitting on my table, and after assigning the new orders to worker's checking on the progress of open tickets, I strapped my tool belt on, grabbed my kit, left instructions to intercom me if something big came up, and went down to Deck 94.

The jukebox was in pretty good shape, but required some soldering to repair, which took me some time to complete. By the time I had finished, noon was approaching quickly, and I decided to go ahead and eat my lunch there in the lounge on Deck 94. I had grabbed a sandwich yesterday at my mom's diner and had some left over. That was my lunch today. I ate, some soft music playing from the jukebox, and considered the rest of my day. There was still plenty of work waiting in the shop.

Two security officers came into the lounge carrying their own lunches. As they passed my table one of them saw my toolbox and thanked me for fixing the jukebox saying he had wondered if they were ever going to get someone down here to fix it. I nodded politely and bit back a comment about how busy I've been the past week. I understand where he came from, and had to remind myself that everyone has their own priorities.

They took a table just behind and sat down and started to gossip, as people will do over lunch tables. Hell, if I had been eating with other people I would be gossiping too. Anyway, I was pretty zoned out until I heard one of them mention seeing some Special Tactics officers the other night. "Nah, man, those we're Spec Officers, we would have heard about any operations like that on the deck," the other said.

"I'm telling you, they had the heavy duty weaponry, bigger armor than we wear, dressed all in black. There was something going down; who said they'd tell us what they're up to anyway? We're just here to wrangle up kid's breaking curfew," the first officer said.

"Dude, Spec Tac wears blue on black, not all black. And nothing was happening the other night; I was on shift, and it was quiet all night." They went back and forth like that for a while. I quickly finished my sandwich. All black, heavy weapons and armor? Is it possible those were the same people I saw? I don't even know if the officers were talking about the same night that I was grabbed by the man, but I felt certain the two things were somehow connected. Man I don't even know what's going on with all this. But for some reason I just can't stop being nervous.

I quickly finished my lunch and went back to the shop. Something in my mind had decided a good idea was to just dive into work and try to get through today again. I don't even know why I feel so nervous, but there it is. I mean, surely there's nothing big going on? That man was probably just a thief that had been caught and was trying to get away. But then why did he warn me about the armored men? Something just didn't add up in my mind about things, but it wasn't for me to figure out I guess. I found myself in front of the shop's door and with a deep breath went in, happy to find some more work to focus on for a bit.

Tyler had returned and was sitting at his desk franticly filling out what looked to be a report on the repairs for the reactor. I stopped Marvin and asked, "Did he finally finish the reactor work?" nodding towards Tyler.

"Yeah, I guess so. He just came in, went straight to his desk, and started working on the report," Marvin said. "I guess he wants to get that done as soon as he can." I nodded my agreement and went to the door to Tyler's office. Knocking I poked my head in, "Get it all sorted out?"

Tyler looked up. "Close the door," he said. I did so and sat in the chair across his desk. He slid the report that he had been working over to me. "Look over that real quick would you?"

I did so; reading over the page that described Tyler's method of determining what mechanically may have been causing the problem in the reactor. I finished reading the report and took a second look at it, trying to figure out why it stood out to me as odd. After a third look it finally hit me. "That part doesn't move; nothing near it does," I said. "But the wear you found on the wires sound like friction or contact or something frayed them." Tyler nodded looking at me through his brow, silently urging me to keep talking my through it. "But if nothing near the wires move, they shouldn't be getting frayed. So, this kind of wear shouldn't even be possible, right?"

Tyler nodded again and put his hands down on his desk slowly, deliberately, as if he need the motion to steady himself. "That could only have been done intentionally, by someone or something," he said.

"Maybe one those mutated bugs that get every now and then?" I asked. The thought made sense to me. We've had to repair wires and pipes from them before, and those things love to be near the radiation that comes from reactors.

"No, I don't think so," he said, exhaling a long breath. "The damage was too clean, very precise. If it had been a bug, there'd be more damage around the area, and they probably wouldn't have ignored the wires that are connected to the safety systems."

He was right, of course. Bugs don't really tend to be precise in the damage they do. The silence in the little office grew thick, and for the second time today, I felt my mind getting away from me and anxiety building. I wanted to scream at Tyler that what he was implying was impossible, but instead I asked, "So a person would have had to do it on purpose? Sabotage the reactor?"

The report just sat on the desk. All the possible implications of it seemed to add weight to it. An impossibly heavy piece of paper. That I know of, no one had ever sabotaged or attempted to sabotage a reactor before. I mean there had been accidents, break downs of equipment, all the things that you would expect over two-hundred years of functioning and people being around. But sabotage? And a reactor no less. This is dangerous. Tyler reached out and took the report up in his hand. "When I turn this in, there's going to be a shitstorm, you know?" he said. "I wanted to show it to you to warn you things may get a little weird around here. Security is likely to look hard at the Repair Corps and the reactor groups, not many outside of them would know exactly how to mess with a reactor without it going very wrong."

I nodded. Again he was right, a lot of eyes were about to be on the shops of the Repair Corps. "Also," he said, "you know the protocol here right?" I do, of course. Even though it's rarely been an issue, every Repair Corps officer is trained to consider all possible incidents of sabotage of Vault Equipment as classified by Security.

"Of course," I said, nodding slowly. I won't share this info anywhere other than this journal, which is for my own knowledge anyway. Tyler nodded at me and left his office and the shop, heading towards the deck's Security Office with the report in his hand. I went back to work for the day, checking in with the other workers in the shop and following up on my own paperwork. Throughout the day, there was a tension to the shop, I think. It seems as though I'm the only one who really noticed it. Tyler was gone again for most of the afternoon, in fact the rest of the shop had been long off when he came back. I was working on a radio that someone had brought to the shop for repair, staying well past when I needed to and enjoying the distraction of work rather than returning to my quiet quarters quite yet. Tyler came into the shop, barely regarded me and when to his office, where he stayed for a while before eventually leaving again without paying me any attention at all.

I checked the time on my watch, and decided it was late enough for me to leave too. I was most of the way back to my quarters when I stopped and decided to head down to Deck 87 to visit their lounge. They have one of the few lounge's in our sector that has a permit to create and sell alcohol, and while I don't often make my way down to that lounge, three decks being a long way to go for a drink, I figured I could use a drink tonight.

I was at the bar, waiting for the server to bring me the beer I had ordered when Carlos came up behind me and slapped me hard on the back. He always likes to great me like that. I guess he thinks it's funny to "sneak" up on me. "Hey bro!" he said reaching past me, under the bar and pulling out two bottles of beer, leaving some coins on the counter. He handed one to me. "What's the big ole' Repair Officer Second Class doing in this dive?" He's been rankling me over my promotion ever since I got it. He says he wants to keep me from getting too full of myself, but I think it's really his way of showing me he's proud of me. Carlos, all machismo, all the time.

"It's been a rough day, figured I could use something a little stronger than water before bed." I said, brushing off his comment about my rank. I really am glad to have gotten the promotion, and I'm proud of my work and what I do for the Vault, but I really don't think my rank is anything special, I mean there's one of us on just about every five decks or so. I just happen to be second in command in the biggest repair shop for our sector. That was just luck from knowing Tyler as long as I have I think.

"Well, it's good to have you around," Carlos said, "haven't seen you in a while." He's right, I haven't come to see him in a while, as busy as I've been and then as weird as the past week has been I just haven't had it thought to go to other decks for anything but a repair order. I have missed him though. We got caught up and made small talk. I told him about how busy we've been and some of the more interesting jobs I've been on recently and he paid polite attention, smiling and nodding in all the right spots. He took a seat on the barstool next to me and his eyes came to the same level of mine as I stood. Carlos is still a good head taller than me, and thin. Not really wiry though. He's rather muscular, even if he isn't very big he does have a healthy look. His mouth curled into a smile and he laughed at a small joke I made.

It was his turn to catch me up as we got to our second round of drinks. Things have been well in the hydroponics bays he said. Production is up and while it may take a bit to see the effect, he things that we should see a bit of a surplus in food supplies, at least as far as fruits and vegetables go. He says some of the ranchers he talks to from Deck 122, which is pretty much nothing more than some quarters, a small mess hall, and wide open room where what animals we can keep are raised and handled by the ranchers, say that they're planning for a smaller flock ready for culling, which could lead to a problem with meat supplies. I guess more veggie sandwiches for me. I paid him the same attention he gave me, which wasn't hard. I really do love hanging out with Carlos. He's just so enthusiastic about everything. Hell, he still goes on rants about Grognak from time to time, just as excited as he was when we were kids. I really do wish I could find a copy of the next issue for him, but everyone I have talked to about hasn't seen one, so I'm thinking that a copy just never made it to the Vault.

We talked through the second round of drinks and got another. My head was starting feel a little fuzzy and the laughs came a bit easier. We ended playing some pool for a bit and eventually left the lounge, feeling pretty good about things. I realized how late it was getting and really hadn't intended to still be out, but I had missed Carlos and we eventually made our way back to his quarters. We made more small talk there, sitting close on his couch, listening to the radio and feeling comfortable in the closeness of each other. He leaned down and kissed me, always the one to initiate. I just always feel a little nervous about starting things with him. Nothing like it is with Tori, where I'm not always taking charge, but feel no hesitation in getting things going.

Carlos's kisses tasted of the heady sweetness of the beer we had been drinking and before long, our jumpsuits were in a pile on the floor and we were a tangle of limbs wrapped around one another, our lips meeting, then him kissing my chest, my hand rubbing the small tuft of hair in the middle of his chest, his fingers wrapping gently around me, caressing me to fullness as he took the tip into his mouth with a light touch of his tongue. I clawed at the couch and gripped tightly, my breath coming in short, shallow huffs in a rhythm with his movements. A quiet moan and then, with a couple of soft swallows, Carlos kissed his way up my chest, stepping to tease my nipple with tongue, then up my neck to my lips. In a long deep kiss, a scooted down the couch a little and Carlos slid his body between my legs. There on his couch I took him into me and well, I really had missed Carlos.

After we had finished, we sat on his couch, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies wrapped around one another. The silent moments of having just had one another surrounded us deeply. These are always some of my favorite moment, but as always they must pass. I dressed and went back to my own quarters thinking about Carlos and Tori and how one of those relationships would eventually have to end, how despite what Carlos and I have not being forbidden per say, it certainly being discouraged. Any coupling that won't lead to children will draw discouragement at best, violence at worst. Especially with the son a well-respected doctor being involved. We do keep our time together secret, no one knows, and I know it would hurt Tori to find out about it, but I just don't think she can know, I couldn't out Carlos like that. But then, is this really fair to Tori either? More confusion for my life. I made it back to my quarters, and still a little heady from the beer and the sex climbed into my bed.

Salvage Log – December 8th 2291

Another day and yet more walking, at least most of it. I tend to stay near the back of the caravan when we're actually moving; it's easier to keep track of Ted from there. Not that I'm worried any of my travel companions will try to grab some of my gear or goods, I just am still not sure how well Ted's going to do in a herd. He's been known to take off at the sight of a molerat, who knows how he'll react if one of the caravan bramhin get spooked. I also don't really know what I would do if he do lose it; I'm hardly a rustler, but it makes me feel slightly better to stay in the rear. Maybe I'm just not used to travelling with others myself, and this position lets me keep a pretty good eye on most of the people in the caravan, everyone except the two guards bringing up the rear. The company put a good deal into this expedition it seems. In addition to Ralph there are five other traders, two loaded down bramhin for each trader, and eight well-armed guards. The guards all seem to know what they're doing, and while they're no Rangers, they are quick and professional when setting up and breaking down camp and are able to take good positions around the caravan as a whole. They had already impressed me, but they solidified that about midmorning today what an small explosion popped off about 50 yards to the right of the craravan. The guards were at attention just as fast as I was, rifles pulled off our shoulders and eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble as the traders came up to get the bramhin to cover.

We had been walking along an old road heading straight north, and just a few to the east of us was a ridgeline that would make for great cover. I was scanning these ridges and moving toward Ted to help herd him with the rest of the cattle when I caught sight of them. Ten people, too far away to clearly make out details through their rag-tag makeshift bits of armor heading in our direction. They were all crouched and moving towards us as if they hoped the explosion on our other side drew all of our attention. I whistled and yelled at the guards, pointing at the raiders and firing off a shot in their general direction to help get the point across. The raiders responded by rising, most of the rushed forward in a full sprint while two stayed back and started fire off shots, seeming at random in the general direction of us.

Their shots largely were off target, mostly going wide, but I instinctively dove for the ditch on the side of the road for cover. I rolled over to my stomach, and, looking to my left and right, saw most of the guards hunker into shooting positions and start returning fire. One with a particularly large gun lined up and sounded off three shots faster than most people I've ever seen shoot. Two of the running raiders dropped to the ground and a third staggered, but kept regained his footing and kept coming. I fired off a round into his leg and he lurched forward and flipped end over end a few times, sliding into a cloud of dust. I barely saw that as I shoved my body to my right as one of the raiders launched herself the last few yards to me. Her spear, or jaggedly cut metal pipe anyway dug into the dirt where I had been.

I kicked my leg out and landed a solid kick to her face, cracking her nose with a sickening crunch. She barely recoiled and dove at me again. The butt of my rifle slammed into the side of her head, opening a cut next to her eye. I don't think she even felt it, but her weight was thrown off, and as she staggered, I pulled the pistol from my hip holster, brought to bear, and fired a round into her temple. A nine millimeter round may not be very big, but only a couple of feet away it does a lot of damage. The blood sprayed me pretty well and her body collapsed alongside me. A deep breath and I pulled myself out of the ditch and straightened up to see another raider rushing at me. I set my feet to dodge his attack, but needn't have bothered. With a growl, Dogmeat flew into the raider, forcing him to the ground. The raider struggled under the weight of the large dog as Dogmeat snapped at the raider's face. One bite landed around the man's neck and wish a snarl and a quick twist of his neck Dogmeat pulled the raider's throat straight from his neck.

I stood up and took a quick look to take in my surroundings, two of the guards were jogging over to me, and the others were checking the bodies of the raiders. All told we made it out with no losses and no injuries that I could see, and the raiders were all dead or dying. The guards made it to me, and one of them, an older, balding man named Locke asked "You ok?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just some raiders. Nothing worse than I've dealt with before." I picked my rifle up and gave it a quick once over for any damage before strapping it back over my shoulder.

"You did good out here," the other guard said. He is younger, red hair, I think his name is Christopher. "I mean, taking down two on your own like that." He glanced down to the dead man a few feet behind me and went a bit pale.

"Well, not alone really," I said, kneeling to pet Dogmeat and check his mouth. If I don't clean the flesh out of his teeth fast after a kill like that his breath will be rancid for days. I pet him with on hand as I rinsed his snout off with some water from my canteen. "the mutt's pretty useful in a place like that," I said looking back up to Christopher, who had gotten some of his complexion back.

"Either way," Locke said, "good to know you can carry your own." Another guard came up to him and passed him an empty pill bottle. "Buffout," Locke said with a shrug. "Must have been junkies hoping for a score." He turned the bottle upside down to demonstrate his point.

"Explains why that one just shrugged off a boot to the face," I said nodding at the woman I had left in the ditch.

Locke raised a brow. "You did that with a boot?" he asked eying the exit wound. "Heck of a kick."

I shrugged off the comment and went to check on Two-Head Ted as the guards searched the bodies of the raiders for loot. It still doesn't sit well with me how quickly people are will to simply take from the dead like that, but waste not want not I understand. I think so long as I'm travelling with this caravan, I'll just let them handle that. Locke came up to me shortly and handed me a rifle similar to my own. He explained that I helped fend them off, only right I got something for it. The rifle is in terrible shape, but I put it with my gear that Ted carried for me. I can probably take something of value off of it at some point. Locke set about getting the caravan back together and not thirty minutes after the explosion that set off the attack, we were back on our way.

We continued to follow the road north, and despite the encounter with the raiders, spirits seemed high in the caravan. The traders seemed pretty relaxed and confident in their safety, and the guards carried themselves a little lighter too, though they did adjust one extra person to the right of the caravan to protect the side facing the ridge. I guess every felt a little more invincible after the attack since no one got hurt. Hell, I was the only one the raiders even got into arms reach of apparently. I was back in my general spot, near the brahmin and keeping pace but dragging my feet a bit more. I never really cared for dealing with raiders like that. Granted it was the first time I've had to kill someone to protect myself like that, but it really never gets easier for me, which is why I generally just try to avoid the situation, but this caravan is going to make that a little harder. There's a lot of good chance for food, weapons, ammo, and various other goods from hitting it, and we have a long way to go to reach New Canaan. Tonight I'm wondering if maybe I made a mistake agreeing to travel with them. It's hard to knock Locke and his crew, though. They're armed and armored and ready for most things short of a full on tribal raiding party or the full Legion. Hopefully we won't run into any of those.

The sun was getting low in the west when Locke broke from his position in the front of the caravan and came back to speak with Ralph. There was some pointing along the horizon and a general nodding of heads among the other traders as I walked up. "What's up?" I asked.

Locke pointed out to the north. "Looks like a few buildings up the road about two miles. We're thinking about making for that and setting up camp there if we can."

"Any of you know what's there?" I asked.

One of the traders, Simon an older man still healthy but definitely past his best days, piped up. "Old pre-War golf course. I've come up to it a few times when I was more about prospecting. I don't think that anyone has set up there, too far to get power from Hoover, so most just keep heading for the Strip. Been a while since I've been up this way though."

"Well there you have it," I said. "Sounds like a solid place to camp up."

"I was thinking the same thing," Ralph said. "We'll make for that and set up for the night." He put an edge to his voice on this, like he really wanted to make sure it was his decision to camp at the golf course.

"Sure," Locke said, "let's get moving along then." He turned and went back to his point at the head of the caravan. Ralph gave the back of his a hard look. Great, a dick measuring contest between a self-important merchant and overly armed grizzled veteran of the trails. This will be a fun trip. Either way, we kept moving along and came to the golf course just before the sun dipped below the horizon. As we approached the building's entrance, the door opened and a man with the definitive wide brimmed hat and shiny armor of an NCR Ranger stepped out into the dying orange of the sunset. "Ho there, this is an NCR camp and you all may want to move along," he said.

Ralph moved to the front of the group and went to speak with the Ranger. He showed his caravan papers from the Crimson Caravan Company and explained that we were just looking for a place to make camp. I didn't listen too closely to the exchange and went to check on Two-Head Ted, making sure the harness holding all of my gear bags and pouches wasn't rubbing him too much. Everything seemed to be ok, because the Ranger led us around the building to a place where we could pin up the brahmin for the night. He waved at a few of the other Rangers as he moved through their camp. The camp was one of the bigger Ranger Stations I've seen before. They spread out behind what was once a fairly modest club house. This place certainly has nothing on Camp Golf, an NCR base just outside of the Strip.

Behind the club house, a small field of green seems to have flourished in the desert. False turf, the Ranger explained. From what they could tell this golf course had been a bit of a completely artificial oasis in the Pre-War world, and you can still make out where there were once small ponds of water, mostly dilapidated, rotten wood bridges extending over now empty holes in the ground. It must have been nice once, but now it's overwhelmed by green tents, a firing range, and what looks to be a small, cordoned off area for a triage. All in all, the Rangers are pretty well set up. The man leading us around the camp brought us to an empty patch of flat green, explaining to Ralph the club house was off-limits, but we could make camp here without any trouble.

We were all a little disappointed about that, another night with the only warmth being from small camp fires and whatever heat we could keep bundled up can be rough to stare down, but that's what happens when you deal with the NCR military. I really am still impressed that they even let us camp here. Usually when there are this many Rangers in one spot, something big is happening, and you're lucky to get more than a polite, yet firm "go away." I guess the Crimson Caravan Company has a little bit of sway with them though, so we went about making camp. I set up my own tent, built a fire a few feet away, and got about my business for the evening. Even with the caravan, I'm keeping to my evening routine, make camp, take the harness off Ted and check it for wear and tear, feed Dogmeat, feed myself, check my own gear.

I was sitting at a table near my tent, looking over the rifle that Locke had given me from the raiders. The barrel was absolutely useless, no wonder they couldn't hit anything. I started to dismantle the rifle; the trigger mechanism was still in good shape and the stock would be useful. I had cracked mine a little when I smacked the woman with it. I was putting these pieces on my own rifle, the parts fit pretty well, so they'll help get my gun back into shape, when a woman in the Ranger uniform came up to me. "Hey there, got a minute?" she asked. I nodded and she introduced herself as Lt. Colleen McMurphy. Colleen has apparently taken on the task of munitions officer for the camp and wanted to know if I had anything I could trade. "The others sent me over to you," she explained, "they said they had some things they could trade, but were supposed make sure most of it made it to New Canaan. Said you weren't with the company and may be more free to trade." Well, one more benefit of travelling with the caravan, maybe I can turn that mind set into some profit for myself while we're on the road.

"Yeah, I may be able to help you out," I said, setting aside the rifle and tools and going over to the pile of bags and cases that I keep my salvage in. We bartered a bit over some scrap metal, a case of ammunition that was too small a caliber for my own weapons, and a few bits of computer parts she thought she could use to repair some of the Rangers' automated turrets. I got a good bit of caps and some ammo I could use out of it, a decent trade on both sides I think.

While were working out the deal we made the required small talk. "So if you're not with Crimson Caravan, why travel with them?" she asked me eventually.

"We're headed the same direction for quite a ways; it seemed like the best idea. Safety in numbers and all," I told her.

"They're headed for New Canaan, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't even know for sure if it exists. I mean, I've heard of it before, supposed to be a pretty big settlement."

"Yep," she said, "Some scouts have headed that way from the NCR before. Last I had heard it was still there and running. I think you guys should make out pretty good there."

"Well, Crimson Caravan will anyway," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'll break off from this group before they get there." I explained.

"Then where are you headed? I don't think there's anything worth heading to out that direction. Unless you got a mind to join Ceasar's Legion?" She eyed me a little unwarily. I wonder if she thought that was a real possibility.

"No, no," I said. "I hope to stay well clear of them."

"Good plan. But be careful, we've run into them occasionally in the area around here. Mostly to the north and east. Small bands mostly, we've not any trouble with them really, but they're out there," she said.

"Good to know. I'll keep an eye out for them. Is that why you've set up camp here?" I asked.

"Not really," she answered. "We're here setting up a forward camp. Now that things have settled down a bit around the Strip, we're looking to scout a bit more to the north and see what's out there. I think the politicians back home are all annoyed that we couldn't annex the Strip and want to make that up with other territory." We made some more small talk as I went back to repairing my rifle. I kept waiting for her to ask about my own destination, but she never did. She eventually wished me a good night and went back towards the large tent the Rangers were using as a barracks. I finished putting the new stock on my rifle and went to my own tent to put down my log entry for the night.


End file.
